Hyperspace, En Route to Bespin

"I think it's time that you've met another good friend 'o mine," Han said aloud, watching the colors of blue and white mix with each other in Hyperspace. "Introduce you to him."

The Wookiee slightly shook his hairy head, giving a gentle gurgling sound. Leia asked cautiously, "And who is this friend of yours?"

Han smirked, crossing his hands behind his head and leaning back within his seat. "Lando Calrissian," Han lifted a nail to pick at his teeth. "Used to have tons of adventures with the guy. Now, he's the lead man in Cloud City."

"So we're going to Bespin to meet with this man, Lando? What, are the two of you going to smoke spice together? Is that why you wanted to get out?" Leia's tone turned into venom, spitting directly at the smuggler. Han wasn't even phased by her sudden cry of outrage. In fact, it amused him. True though, Han did have a few deathsticks and smoked some spice in his free time back then when he was younger. But smoking spice with Lando? There was a couple times he did with the humble man. Humble? Well, that's one hell of a way to describe him.

Mostly for Han, he wanted to experience that hair-raising, heart-dashing, high stakes game of sabacc. Han smiled to himself at the memory of ceasing Lando's sly try of cheating during his last game, ultimately winning the Falcon from the man. The look on his face when he won was a fond memory of Solo's. He answered smoothly, "Nah, Princess. Like I said, I just want you to have a little break. That's all," Removing his finger from his lips, hand turned to face Leia who sat behind his own chair. The man met with a quirked brow with pretty, frowned lips. "Oh come on, you don't believe me? Ask Chewie if you think he's more honest that I am."

The Wookiee growled his assent while pressing a few buttons to steady their large craft. "See?" Han grinned satisfactorily.

The Alderaanian rolled her glowing hazel eyes, giving a rare smile towards him. Han felt his chest warm at the sight, giving her a playful wink. Before he turned to redirect his attention back to the Falcon's controls, he could have sworn he saw her blush. Before long, the young woman announced, "I'm going to check on Luke," Leia stood from her seat before adding, "You boys stay here.. try not to crash the ship while I'm gone."

Chewbacca gave an audible sound akin to a laugh, and Han retorted sarcastically, "Yeah, we'll obviously crash the damn thing while you're gone. What will we do without your guidance, your highness?"

Leia just left, giving a muffled chuckle. Han scoffed after her. Walking through the wide hallways of the Falcon, the young Princess found young Skywalker sitting within the lounge, toying with the holotable that currently played a round of Dejarik. The Astromech, R2-D2, stood on his pedes on the opposite side of the table, playing the game with the blonde-haired boy to pass time. Feeling Leia's bright presence through the Force, his blue eyes lifted upwards and warmed at the sight of her. "May I watch?" Leia asked in a gentle tone as she neared the young man.

"Sure," Luke said. "Artoo's in the lead at the moment, though. I feel I'm gonna lose." He chuckled. The Droid gave a 'bwoo' followed by a chirp in response. The small figure of the monster-like creatures gave a high-pitched growl as Luke made his move, beating up one of the Droid's lackeys as he moved to another spot on the board.

"Luke, are you okay?" Leia asked, looking directly towards young Skywalker's dipped head who focused on the board. His head snapped to the side to meet her. He questioned, "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I just.. you feel a little off to me. That's all." Leia answered honestly.

"..." Luke remained silent, anxiety followed by a small hint of worry seeped inside his frame. He replied softly after a bout of silence shared between the group. "I feel that I should be back on Hoth, Leia. Doing what I need to do for the Rebel Alliance. Ever since Yavin though, I just feel.. eh, you know?"

Luke grimaced to himself when he mentioned Yavin, as he remembered that terrible tremor in the Force. It shook him to the core, alongside that dark presence that continued to follow him through the trench. It felt vaguely similar to the aura he felt when he and Ben rescued the Princess on the Battle Station, when the Shadow brought his saber down onto Old Ben with his crimson blade. His chest gave a slight shiver at the memory of it. Darth Vader, was the Shadow's true name. Darth.

Leia nodded, giving a sigh. "I feel the same way, Luke. We both share that responsibility for the Alliance, and it can be a pretty heavy duty for us both.. well, four of us."

"Did.. did you ever.." Luke trailed off, his normally bright thoughts growing clouded when he reminisced of the Shadow and his sticky, ominously dark presence that he managed to experience twice before.

Leia prodded him with her coercing words. "Ever what?"

"Ever meet Darth Vader personally?" Luke finally forced the question out, the name tasting like bitter ash on his tongue. At once in the Force, he was met with gloom added with a flaring rage in Leia's presence in the Force. Immediately, Skywalker tried mending the emotional wound that he openly renewed inside the Princess, feverishly saying, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine, Luke. And I haven't. Not personally." Leia answered curtly, turning away to observe directly in front of her. Luke forced his jaw shut. Her fists balled up in her lap, and Artoo gave a solemn sound, twisting his domed head from the former farmboy to the Princess. The Force felt murkier between them and Skywalker cringed to himself as he saw grief engulf Leia's steady gaze. Oddly though, the grief felt faintly familiar in a sense, but he didn't dare ask more from her. "Sorry." his voice echoed throughout the Falcon's lounge.

Steadily, Luke lifted his right arm to try to embrace the young Princess, but before he could fully wrap her, she lifted herself to stand. "Vader was someone, or rather something that I wish to blast into pieces. It induced me into more pain that I could ever imagine, and stole my entire family from me. My planet."

Skywalker's brow creased, and his frown deepened. Artoo remained silent as well, but turned his domed head to face the Princess. A round of hard silence followed, almost crushing the young man. However, Leia gently placed her hand on his shoulder, giving a sad smile. Without another word she turned to walk away, heading back to the Falcon's cockpit where Han and the Wookiee currently subsided. Luke was left with a sense of nearly overbearing, shared sadness that echoed through the Force, alongside Leia's lingering touch on his shoulder. He pursed his lips, and looked to the Astromech who still stood in front of him. Luke couldn't even imagine the trauma the Princess must have faced only a couple mere years ago, during the waning hours of that Alderaan still existed.

He couldn't imagine the overbearing agony that she must have endured when Leia was 'questioned' in that small cell upon the Death Star. Yet his curiosity for Vader grew, followed by anger for what the thing had done to his friends. To what it had done to millions of beings in the Galaxy. To what it had done to Ben. His curiosity though. Luke's curiosity was his yearning for understanding what the thing truly was. Wanted to understand it. Wanted to know why it was doing all of these terrible things in the Galaxy. Why? Luke asked countless times to himself when his thoughts wandered on the Shadow. Why, why, why?

But the only answer he was given was that there wasn't a why. There was only is. Vader is a Monster. Vader is a machine, purely built to destroy those who opposed the Empire. Yet, Luke's Light argued, it had to be human. Yet, there had to be a valid reason why he was doing these monstrosities for the Empire. He was only a dog for the Emperor, he was told. Both bark, and held a vicious, terrible bite. Luke swallowed. Skywalker's gaze drifted towards Artoo, and his thoughts were interrupted when he heard C3-PO's familiar voice say aloud, "Master Luke! Oh my, I see that you are currently in a session of Dejarik. Do tell me, are you winning over Artoo Deetoo by any solid chance?"

Luke replied shallowly, "Yeah, Threepio. But Atroo's currently winning at the moment," he smiled, those thoughts concerning Vader drifting slowly away. "He's kicking butt."

Artoo gave a series of chirps akin to laughter, then a long ' bwoo' sounded after. "Oh my! Kicking your butt? Artoo you shouldn't do such things! It is most unpleasant. I didn't even know those pedes of yours could reach that high!"

Skywalker openly guffawed at Threepio's statement, feeling an overwhelming rise of amusement from Threepio's hilariously literal sentence. "No, Threepio," Luke said in between bated breaths. "Artoo isn't literally kicking me, he's just winning!"

The golden Droid tilted his head and upperbody. "Well, I'd hoped you win." Threepio's voice said, and Luke could have sworn he heard tartness in the Droid's tone. Artoo sounded a series of giggle-like sounds. Luke's palm traced over his Father's saber which was situated by his waist, gliding a single finger over the fine, smooth metal. Luke slowly stood upwards, as he said to Artoo, "I think we can pause the game for now. I'm gonna go have a look in the cockpit,"

Luke quickly shuffled his feet and entered the hallways of the Falcon, heading directly for the craft's cockpit. As he did so, he called, "Han, are you gonna tell me where we're going to by any chance?"

Han hollered back as soon as Luke entered the pit. "Bespin, Luke. We're going to Bespin."

"Why?" Luke questioned again, the word automatically shooting from his lips like blasterfire.

Han grumbled to himself for a little, and he saw Leia give Luke a welcoming smile. Although he could still feel her uneasiness through the Force from their recent, almost awkward conversation, it was reduced greatly. "We're meeting Lando, one of Han's acquaintances." Leia answered smoothly.

"Yeah, what her majesty said," Only as Han announced that, a resounding screeching beep was emitted in the Falcon's cockpit, alerting the two pilots of a sudden problem that decided to pounce on the four of them. "What the-?" Han's voice hissed in question.

The smuggler rapidly pressed a few buttons, and the human's ears were met with an angered roar from Chewie. The Falcon began to tremble, and Skywalker nearly fell from such a unwarranted force. "Han? What's going on?" Leia's voice shouted, panic hinting at her tone.

A few obviously concerning sounds resonated in the ship, almost like a loud harsh stuttering in the ship's engines. A snarling growl was emitted from the Wookiee, and Han retorted, "I worked on the hyperdrive literally only a few hours ago, you stuck-up! It seemed fine to me!"

Without answering Leia's inquiry to what was going on in the Falcon, the adult man shot up in his seat, frantically storming out from the cockpit and pushing Skywalker out of his way. "Hey-"

"Shut it, kid!" Han snarled, obvious distress dripping in his tone. The young woman followed suit after Han, but Chewie still sat in the Falcon's shaking cockpit. Luke swayed in his stance as he tried to settle himself down into one available seat, nearly falling on his side. The colors of hyperspace from the viewport turned into an unnatural navy blue. There could only be one absolute answer as to what the kriff was going on: Hyperdrive failure. Eyes wide, the blonde haired young man gripped his seat, digging his fingers into the cushion. The Wookiee bleated, while Han's echoing voice could be heard loudly in the Falcon's cockpit. Deciding to give the Wookiee a hand, Luke quickly stood and jumped into Han's pilot seat. Chewie's jaws were gaping open, as more alarms continued nosily throughout the pit. "Chewie, calm down! We can do this!" Skywalker reassured, already directing his attention back to the Falcon's controls.

He only had a handful of experience to guide the Millennium Falcon. "We're going to have to make an emergency drop from Hyperspace, Chewie. I dunno what's going on back there, but it seems from the entire severity from it, we gotta do it."

Chewie nodded and gave a growl of affirmative, using his hairy fingers to press multiple buttons at once. Luke did the same, but from their shared efforts to conclude the drive through Hyperspace, the Falcon didn't budge. In fact, it only seemed to grow faster in speed through the blue tunnel. "It's not working!" Luke exclaimed.

Chewbacca shook his head to and fro furiously, but from the overwhelming rate in speed of the Falcon, a blinding light slowly began to build in the viewport of the ship. Chewie sounded a guttural whining bellow, and Skywalker's blue eyes squinted as he tried to see through the overwhelming whiteness that almost threatened to blind him. "Han! Leia!" Luke shouted aloud.

There was no answer, for a sudden lurch in the ship was given, forcing his body forwards. He slammed his forehead against the edge of the Falcon's table of controls. His body wasn't even able to process the pain as Skywalker saw black.

The North, the Wall

Castle Black

"Jon Snow?"

"None else." Came a haggard reply. Despite the dire, heartbreaking, and downright fatal condition that he was currently in, Jon still smiled through it all. The smith studied him for a few lengthy moments, the warmth on his dirtied face creased into concern.

"Your face.."

Jon nearly forgot what happened to him. He replied quickly, "A skinchanger tried to rip out my eye."

Noye frowned, releasing his hands from the bellows. "Scarred or smooth, it's a face I thought I'd seen the last of. We heard you've gone over to Mance Rayder."

To keep himself steady and upright, Snow used his free hand to hold the door to remain balanced. "Who told you that?"

"Jarman Buckwell. He returned a fortnight past. His scouts claim they saw you with their own eyes, riding alongside the Wildling column and wearing a sheepskin cloak," Noye studied him, a single eyebrow rose on his face. Noye grinned, "I see the last part's true."

Jon swallowed, a flare of stinging pain began in his leg, but he ignored it. "It's all true," He confessed. "As far as it goes."

"Should I be pulling down a sword to gut you, then?" Noye grumbled.

"No, I was acting on orders," Jon said. He bit his lip to keep from hissing in pain, nostrils flared. "Qhorin Halfhand's last command. Noye, where is the garrison?" Snow then asked, his black eyes flicked upwards to meet the smith's own.

"Defending the Wall against your Wildling friends."

"Yes, but where?" The young man bit.

The smith sighed, his gaze brought back to observe his station. Using a hand to clasp a pair of tongs, and a rag. "Everywhere. Harma Dogshead was seen at Woodswatch-by-the-Pool, Rattleshirt at Long Barrow, the Weeper near Icemark. All along the Wall.. they're here, they're there, they're climbing near Queensgate, they're hacking at the gates of Greyguard, they're massing against Eastwatch.. but one glimpse of a black cloak and they're gone," Noye used the rag to clean off the tongs, his jaw clenched. "Next day they're somewhere else."

Jon curled his lip, his gaze burned into the stone ground. "Feints. Mance wants us to spread ourselves thin, don't you see?" A rise of fury engulfed Snow, but he swallowed it whole before it could be released. "The attack is here."

Noye crossed the room as he approached Snow, his calm gaze observed his leg where the wound lay. "Your leg is drenched in blood." He observed aloud.

"An arrow wound.." He began, but Noye cut him off.

"A Wildling arrow." The smith stated. The smith had only one arm, but his flesh was thick and strong with muscle. He used that arm to slide it under Jon's, using it to support him. "You're white as milk, and burning hot besides. I'm taking you to Aemon."

Jon quickly opened his jaw to reply, quickly saying, "There's no time! There are Wildlings south of the Wall, coming up from Queenscrown to open the gate."

Noye's eyesbrows widened, seemingly taking that sentence to heart. He asked, "How many?"

"A hundred and twenty, and well armed for Wildings. Bronze armor, some bits of steel," Jon's exhausted gaze shifted to look at Noye. "How many men are left here?"

"Forty odd," He replied tersely. "The crippled and infirm, and some green boys still in training."

Jon regarded Noye's response. The man then began to move him forwards, transporting him out from the room which they stood in. Again, the flare of pain stung his leg where the arrow wound currently was, and Jon's brow creased. He fought the urge to scream as the smith walked him out, and that fear was accompanied with anxiety and desperation to fight against the Wildling force that chose to battle the Watch. Unfortunately, Jon was nowhere near in state to fight. However, Jon asked once more, "If Marsh is gone, who did he name as castellan?"

Noye laughed. "Ser Wynton, gods preserve him. Last knight in the castle and all. Thing is, Stout seems to have forgotten and no one's been rushing to remind him. I suppose I'm as much a commander as we have now. The meanest of cripples."

That was tolerable. The one-armed armorer was strong, tough, and well seasoned in any battle. Ser Wynton Stout however, he had been a good soul before.. everyone had agreed so. Eighty years, was he a Ranger. Both his stamina and intelligence dissapeared from the old man. Jon and the smith exited the armory, and he asked, "Where's your wolf?"

Jon replied breathlessly, "Ghost.. I had to leave him when I climbed the Wall. I'd hoped he'd make his way back here,"

A sigh. "I'm sorry, lad. There's been no sign of him." The two crossed the wide clearing, snow and slosh crunching underneath their booted feet. Noye helped the wounded young man up the steps to the maester's door, in the long wooden keep beneath the rookery. Noye gave the nearly black wood a quick kick. He shouted, "Clydas!"

Few seconds ticked by, and who answered was a short, round-shouldered small man dressed in all black peeped out. His beady, pink-colored eyes widened at once at the sight of Jon Snow. Quickly, he beckoned the two to come inside. Jon felt a little relieved to be out from the biting cold for a little bit, as Noye gently walked him within. As the smith did so, Clydas said, "Lay the lad down, I'll fetch the maester."

Noye gave a single nod in reply, and Jon saw the flickering orangish light of a fire near. The comforting warmth made the young man even more sleepy, and Noye gently laid him down on the ground next to the flames. The world spun before his eyes, followed by a wave of nausea taking over his weakened state. In the corners of his tired eyes, shadows danced, threatening to swallow him whole. He would have welcomed it. Ravens quorked in the rookery above, one seemingly said his last name. "Snow!" The bird cried. "Snow, Snow, Snow!"

At once, his thoughts drifted over to his friend, Samwell. Did he make it home safely? He wondered. Was he safe, away from the cold? He dearly hoped so. As his thoughts brewed, he heard footsteps against wood sound near. Maester Aemon appeared above Jon, shuffling forward in careful steps. Around his neck hung the necklace which he always wore, the metals glinting in the fire's light. "Jon Snow," He greeted. "You must tell me all you've seen and done when you are stronger.. Donal, put a kettle of wine on the fire, and my irons as well. I want them red-hot. Clydas, I shall need that good sharp knife of yours." His pale face bore a frown, his milky eyes saw nothing, as they were glassy and clouded with blindness. Yet, they observed Snow silently.

Jon groaned out, "The Wildlings are coming," Clydas then ran the sharp blade of the knife down his breeches, preparing him for the wound that was soon to be taken care of. "From the South. We climbed the Wall.."

Gently, Clydas unveiled the bandages from the wound of Jon Snow. He gave them a sniff, checking for infection. Jon winced as the cloth peeled from his flesh like skins of potatoes. "We?" a voice asked.

"I was with them. Qhorin Halfhand commanded me to join them," Jon bit his lip as the maester then used his grubby finger to explore his wound, which then opened anew. It poked and prodded at his flesh, and it felt as if a fire began to eat his skin. Snow swallowed an agonized scream. Jon continued steadily, "The Magnar of Thenn-nngh, that hurts," Jon hissed out. "Where is the Old Bear?"

The finger only slightly ceased his movements. "Jon.. it grieves me to say, but Lord Commander Mormont was murdered at Craster's Keep, at the hands of his sworn Brothers."

Shock overtook Snow, and he snapped his head to look directly at Aemon. Eyes wide, Jon slowly uttered, "Bro... our own men?" The old man's single sentence was even more agonizing than his wound. He reminisced of the Old Bear when he last seen him, standing before a tent and looking for corn for his raven. He was gone now. Dead. It was like a devastating blow given to Snow, but the sorrow took over him. A flaring anger began to take him, and he growled out, fists clenched, "Who was it? Who turned on him?"

"..Garth of Oldtown, Ollo Lophand, Dirk.. thieves, cowards, and killers, the lot of them. We should have seen it coming. The Watch is not what it was. Too few honest men to keep the rogues in line." Noye turned the old maester's blades in the fire, preparing them. The metal glowed against the growing darkness. "A dozen true men made it back. Dolorous Edd, Giant, your friend the Aurochs. We heard the tale from them."

Two hundred men had left Castle Black with the Lord Commander Mormont, two hundred of the Watch's best warriors that served. "Does this mean Marsh is Lord Commander, then?" The Old Pomegranate was sure in his ways, and a powerful First Steward. But he was not fit to face a Wildling host, much to Jon's disappointment. The fire crackled, with a few embers flying from the wood. "For the nonce, until we can hold a choosing," replied Aemon. "Clydas, bring me the flask."

A choosing? With Qhorin and Ser Jaremy deceased and Ben missing, there was no one there fit enough. If Thoren managed to survive the Fist, or even Ser Ottyn Wythers, they would be deemed a good position. The commanders of the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch were honest, and valiant men. But they were stark in contrast to eachother. One was polite and chivalrous. But Denys was younger and much more hot-headed than the other. Had a foul mouth and rough all around the edges, worse still was that they two absolutely hated each other. A stab of pain interrupted his thoughts, and Jon huffed through his nose, and Aemon squeezed his palm. "Clydas is bringing the milk of the poppy."

Jon tried to raise his upperbody upwards. "I don't need-"

"You do," Aemon insisted. "This will hurt." Noye approached Jon, and shoved him back to lay down again. Even with a single arm, he was amiable enough to handle Jon like some small toddler. The armorer handed him a small green-colored bottle, "Drink this."

Jon clenched his jaw shut during his struggling, and as he drank the viscous liquid, his own blood mixed with the chalky liquid substance that he forced down his throat. His gag reflex kicked in, but he swallowed it down anyway. Bringing a basin of warm water, Clydas held it out for Aemon. The elderly man washed the pus and leaking crimson blood from his wound. Even though the man was gentle as he could be in his movements, agony danced throughout that area. Instead, Jon said, "The Magnar's men are disciplined, and they have bronze armor," He informed them in an effort to keep his attentions away from the awful sting of his leg.

"The Magnar's a lord on Skagos," Noye replied. "There were Skagossons at Eastwatch when I first came to the Wall, I remember hearing them talk of him."

As he cleaned Snow's wound, Aemon said softly, "Jon was using the word in it's older sense, I think," Jon looked over towards him. "Not as a family name, but as a title. It derives from the Old Tongue."

"It means lord," Jon nodded in assent. "Styr is the Magnar of some place called Thenn, in the far North of the Frostfangs. He has killed a hundred of his own men, and a score of raiders who know the Gift almost as well as we do. Mance never found the horn though, and that's something. The horn of Winter, that's what he was digging for up in Milkwater."

Aemon stopped his movements, a bloodied rag in hand. "The Horn of Winter is an ancient legend.. does the King-beyond-the-Wall truly believe that such a thing exists?"

"They all do," Jon replied quickly. "Ygritte said they opened a hundred grave.. graves of Kings and Heroes, all over the valley of the Milkwater but they never.."

"Who is Ygritte?" Noye suddenly asked.

Jon was then hit with a sense of emptiness. Sorrow seeped into his veins, but he said quietly, "A woman of the free folk." How could he even tell Ygritte of them? She was filled with warmth, so very intelligent and a beautiful young woman, with fire in her gorgeous hair. She could either kiss a man, or slit his neck without a second thought. "..She's with Styr, but she's not.. she's young, only a girl in truth, wild, but she.." Jon ceased his voice, bile rising in his throat. It was rather unlikely that he would ever see her again. He longed to be by her side, to run free through the snow, laughing and merrily joking with her. The milk of the poppy clouded him, as he said, his voice a bare whisper. "I broke my vows with her. I-I never meant to but.."

It was wrong of him to love her. It was wrong of him to leave her. "I wasn't strong enough. The Halfhand commanded me to ride with them, to watch, I must not balk, I.."

His head swam, as if it was muddling through thick brackwater. He felt a puff of air on his wound, and a blooded rag sat upon his leg again. "Donal, the hot knife, if you please. I shall need you to hold him still."

Jon eyed the blade which luminously glowed a red, and he held a hand push down onto his chest, bearing him down. The horrible smell of burning flesh filled Jon's nostrils, but his thoughts entirely compassed on Ygritte. Her beautiful, smiling face, her eyes, her naked body bare to him only. Her face written entirely in betrayal as he left her, filled with anger and spite. Warmth was replaced with cold. I'm sorry, Ygritte. I had to, I had to..

The agony began to ebb. He fainted.

He dreamed of her hands gliding across his body, tending to his bare muscles with her calloused, gentle hands. He woke up, gasping. Jon was alone. He made a face, brow creased in pain as the flaring sting began in his leg. The darkness enveloped him, with pain to accompany him. Snow jumped at the sudden deafening noise. However, a roar filled his ears, and in a blink of an eye, light filled the dark. It was almost as if his skin tingled alive, an unknown feeling washed over his entire form. For only a sparse second, he could feel another presence near, like a bonfire. Snow gasped, and as soon as it appeared, the void of black was back and the bellowing roar that sounded almost like a monster of what he couldn't even describe left. Jon blinked, both feeling a wild shock and surprise from such a sudden occurrence. Another, much more gentle light appeared. The light of a candle. "Jon?"

Snow turned to meet the voice of none other than Pyp. Snow said, "Did you see that?! What was-agh!" A flare of pain began in his leg.

"I did, and I have no idea what that was. Perhaps a sign of the gods. You shouldn't move," The man approached him steadily. "Every man heard the sound as well. A ball of fire shot through the sky. Pretty sure a few men soiled their pants," He snickered. "Doesn't matter now, anyways. There are more important matters to attend to."

Jon heard another shuffle of footsteps near the side of his bed. Jon moaned out, "I thought you'd gone.."

A scoff. "..with the Old Pomegranate? No, he thinks I'm too small and green. Grenn's here too," Pyp gestured to him.

"I'm here too," Grenn said. "I fell asleep."

His throat then felt parched, dry as the deserts of Essos. "Water," Jon rasped. Grenn held a flask, gingerly bringing it up to Snow's cracked lips. He drank greedily, and after a few swallows of the refreshment, he uttered, "I saw the Fist, the blood and dead horses... Noye said a dozen made it back... who?"

"Dywen did. Giant, Garth Greyfeather. Four more. Me."

"Sam?"

Grenn averted his gaze. "He killed one of the Others, Jon."

Jon's brow widened, a more lax form of surprise taking him over than the roar that began only a few moments ago. Grenn continued, "I saw it. He stabbed him with that dragonglass knife you made him, and we started calling him Sam the Slayer. He hated that,"

Sam the Slayer? That very title was something that was highly likely a name of Tarly. But Jon was more concerned for Sam's safety and well being than stupid titles. "What happened to him?"

"We left him," Grenn said, his tone dripped with miserable guilt. "I shook him and screamed at him, even slapped his face. Giant tried to drag him to his feet, but he was too heavy. Remember in training how he'd curl up on the ground and lie there whimpering? At Craster's he wouldn't even whimper. Dirk and Ollo were tearing up the walls looking for food, Garth and Garth were fighting, some of the others were raping Craster's wives."

Jon merely watched him, and Pyp remained silent. The air was tense. "Dolorous Edd figured Dirk's bunch would kill all the loyal men to keep us two to one. We left Sam with the Old Bear. He wouldn't move Jon."

He was your Brother! Jon wanted to shout in fury. How could you leave him alone with Wildlings, and murderers?!

"..He might still be alive," Pyp said, ever being the one filled with the light of hope. "He might surprise us all and come riding up tomorrow."

"With Mance Rayder's head, aye!" Grenn said, trying to be as reassuring and cheerful to Jon as he could be. "Sam the Slayer!"

Once again, Jon tried lifting his upperbody, but at the cost of fire engulfing his leg. The agonizing feeling engulfed the wound, and he cried out, letting out a string of curses. He fell back down, groaning. Pyp grimaced, his gaze flicked from Jon's limp form to Grenn. "Grenn, go wake Maester Aemon," he brought his eyes back to observe Jon. "Tell him Jon needs more milk of the poppy."

Grenn nodded, and Jon groaned out his refusal. "No. The Magnar.."

"We know." Pyp sighed. "The sentries on the Wall had been told to keep one eye on the South, and Donal Noye dispatched some men to Weatherback Ridge to watch the kingsroad. Maester Aemon's sent birds to Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower too."

Pyp sat in an available chair, his brow creased in concern for Snow. The gentle shuffling of feet could be heard, and the young man raised his gaze to meet with Aemon. The elderly man approached Jon's bedside, with one palm placed gently on Grenn's shoulder. Grenn gave a gentle smile, trying to hide the emotional pain of seeing his Brother in such a painful state. "Jon, be gentle with yourself. It is good you have woken, but you must give yourself time to heal. We drowned the wound with boiling wine, and closed you up with a poultice of nettle, mustard seed, and mold bread. Unless you rest.."

"I can't." Jon growled out. "Mance will be there soon.. thousands of men, giants, mammoths.. has word been sent to Winterfell? To the king?"

Grenn gave Pyp an unreadable look. "He doesn't know." Came a solemn answer.

"Jon," Maester Aemon began. Jon could tell by the sudden change in tone that nothing good was to come out from the pale lips of him. He braced himself. "Much and more happened while you were away, and little of it good. Balon Greyjoy has crowned himself again and sent his longships against the North."

Snow's eyes widened, and his nostrils flared. Aemon continued gingerly, "Kings sprout like weeds at every hand and we have sent appeals to all of them, yet none will come. They have more pressing uses of their swords, and we are far off and forgotten. And Winterfell.. Jon, be strong.."

Jon swallowed, and the air around him seemingly rose alive with tension. It was barely noticeable for Snow, but he felt.. grief? Coming from Aemon. To accompany it, was an overwhelming sense of dread. "..Winterfell is no more."

Jon stared, numb. Grenn and Pyp swallowed, their adam's apple bobbed. "No more?" Snow's breath hitched. "My brothers are at Winterfell. Bran and Rickon.."

A hand touched his brow gently, "I am so very sorry, Jon. Your brothers died at the command of Theon Greyjoy, after he took Winterfell in his father's name. When your father's bannermen threatened to retake it, he put the castle to the torch."

"Your brothers were avenged," Grenn's voice whispered. "Bolton's son killed all the ironmen, and it's said he's flaying Theon Greyjoy inch by inch for what he did."

Snow felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jon. We all are."

A rise of fury overtook him as his thoughts encompassed Theon, both his jaw and fists clenched. The blizzard of rage and pure anger overtook Jon, followed with grief and sadness. He mourned the loss of his own bretheren, and his feelings were so strong, that they nearly blinded Snow. A few cups that sat on a table began to shake, liquid was fiercely splattered and spilled onto the polished wood. As soon as it began, it stopped. Grenn and Pyp boggled at the table, and for some reason, Snow shared their surprise. "What..what was that?"

Aemon stared at Jon. "A sign of the Old Gods. Winter is truly coming." His tone was laced in staid solemnity.

Grenn, holding a bottle that held milk of the poppy, he said nervously, "Drink this."

Jon drank. His mind turned foggy, filled with the distant sound of his brother's eager laughter. Blurred faces spun in his eyes, and surrendered to the void.

He dreamed.

A figure, dressed in white, holding a blade of pure blue fire. His eyes were bright, and next to him stood three others. They were faceless, two holding weapons unknown to him. Fire spat out from the odd objects they held. They uttered words he could not decipher as they continued to watch him.

"Who are you?" He asked.

No answer. The boy dressed in white raised his saber, swinging it upwards. A flash of blue light engulfed his sight.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow." Sang the voice of Ygritte.